


Overheard

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, Exhibitionism, Incest, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Rimming, Statutory Rape, Underage - Freeform, the vaguest hint of future john/sam, the vaguest hint of unrequited Sam/Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 18:28:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8811526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Sam wakes up to hear his Dad and Dean engaging in what is apparently a regular occurrence between them. Sam is overcome with emotions he can't reconcile.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Figuring Sam to be 12 here and Dean 16, but it's not specified in the fic.
> 
> This is a work of fantasy. It is incredibly wrong. That's kind of the point here. Hence, fantasy. This is my first foray into this pairing, so massive thanks to everyone who came before who've provided filthy, delicious goodness to feed my thirst.

Sam’s not sure what wakes him exactly, and he’s confused for a moment, all of his senses automatically tuning to Dean. There’s a heavy shifting sound and Sam freezes because whatever’s going on, he knows instinctively it isn’t just Dean moving in his sleep.

“Sam’ll wake up,” comes Dean’s voice, a barely voiced whisper.

He’s answered by a hum, but a familiar one. Sam wants to turn to confirm that his Dad’s in the room but he doesn’t dare move a muscle, sensing their intent for stealth. He can only look in front of him at an empty party of the room, careful to keep his breathing even.

“He’s fine, he's sleeping,” Dad’s voice is slightly less hushed, but still nothing that would wake Sam normally.

“Why don’t we just go to your room like always?” Dean sounds annoyed, but not distressed, so Sam doesn’t think anything’s really wrong.

“Hey, no whining, son. Lift. Good.” There’s another rustle-shift of mattress and what sounds like clothing. “You did good today,” Dad says, and Sam knows he’s probably talking about the shooting practice Dad had taken Dean to while Sam did his homework. “Real good. Your choice tonight. How d’you wanna start?”

Sam’s heart is hammering, and his breathing is probably uneven as shit, but he doesn’t think they’re paying him any attention now.

Dean huffs a breath and he sounds nervous when he answers. “Could. Could you suck on it? And… uh.”

“Two things?” Dad’s amused.

“Uh, no. No, sorry.”

“No go ahead. What else?”

“I… I like it when you lick me… lick my ass.” Sam can practically hear Dean’s rare blush and Sam matches it, burning hot all over. “But Sam…”

“Don’t worry about your brother,” Dad says, and doesn’t specify why. 

Sam’s heart is hammering now, his chest roiling with too much feeling. He’s scared. And mad. He doesn’t even know: at both of them for keeping such dark secrets, at Dean for once again commanding their father’s attention, at Dad for touching Dean --  _ his _ Dean. He wants to roll over and shout at them, but he’s paralyzed. And mixed in with everything is a terrible, twisting guilt because he’s sprung a boner he doesn’t dare touch.

There’s another shifting and Sam is desperate to see. He curses having turned over sometime in the night because he fell asleep facing the other way. He looks up towards the window, past the night table and dresser, and his heart leaps when he realizes the curtains aren’t drawn all the way. He slowly shifts his head, slow enough not to call attention to himself. He’s trying to see if he can see a reflection, and he has to crane his neck a bit but yes, he can see. It’s confusing at first. He sees body parts but the shapes are weird. It takes a second but by following the pale lines of Dean’s bared bottom half, the image falls into place. Dad’s kneeling, sitting on his haunches and has Dean’s hips lifted, drawing Dean’s body up and leaving Dean’s upper back and neck on the bed. Dad shoves a pillow beneath Dean’s lower back on his lap, then jams the other pillow there as well. It doesn’t look comfortable for Dean but then Dad bends his neck Dean gasps quietly. With a clench in his gut, Sam realizes Dad has probably taken Dean’s penis in his mouth but he can't really see, the angle just obscuring the view. Sam desperately wants to yell furiously at them and also to touch his own dick but he doesn’t do either. He relaxes his neck and loses the view, but it’s easy enough to move quietly into position again when he wants to.

The sounds are strange and new to Sam’s ears. Wet smacks mixed in with Dean’s heavy breath occasionally huffing hard when something feels particularly good. A sucking slurp is startling loud.

“ _ Dad _ ! Sam.”

“Shh.” Dad makes the smacking noises again and then there’s a little wet slap, presumably Dean’s dick hitting himself when Dad drops it because Dad talks again. “If you’re so worried, I guess we better move this along, hey son?”

Sam sees Dad’s head change position and he hoists Dean up a little further, and the sounds are back, squelching and obscene.

“You got the sweetest little cunt, son.”

“Dad…” Dean moans softly, sounding mortified.

“I think about your sweet asshole all the time, boy. Watching you swagger around.”

“Dad, shhh.”

Dad chuckles, low, and dips his head again. Dean lets out a shaky little groan like he can’t help it. Dad hums a satisfied sort of sound and there’s a slurp and some more lapping and squelching. The bed shifts again as Sam sees Dean wriggle in the reflection. It goes on for what seems like ages and although Sam can only see a profile, he imagines Dean’s hole, Dad’s tongue. He feels so perverted but he can’t stop.

“You got a greedy little ass, Dean,” says Dad, sounding fond rather than admonishing. It makes no sense because Dean hasn't asked for anything but Sam supposes the comment wasn't for Dean’s sake as much as Dad's.  Sam’s stomach twists with jealousy and arousal.

“‘m gonna put it in now.” Dad's voice is deceptively calm and soothing, but the thought of what he's saying gives Sam a surge of sympathetic trepidation.

“Okay,” Dean replies, breathless. “Okay, but. Could you stretch me a bit first? It hurts when you put it straight in.”

Dad chuckles again. “Yeah. ‘Course. Don’t wanna hurt you.” Which sounds sincere but surely if Dean knows enough to ask, he's been hurt before. Sam hates it, hates his Dad acutely in that moment. And hates himself for wondering if Dean’s eyes pricked up with tears when that happened.

With morbid curiosity, Sam wonders wildly what his Dad’s penis is like. It’s gotta be big, a grownup cock. Sam’s own dick twitches at the thought of Dean taking something so big. He worries.

There’s some rustling and the reflection shows Dad squeezing something onto his hand, and Dean’s been shuffled up the bed to lay down properly, the pillows now under his head. 

Dean’s leg obscures the view but Sam can see Dad’s arm moving, clearly sticking his fingers around or even up Dean’s ass. Dean squirms a bit, but his sighs sound happy enough. 

“Mm, getting good at this, aren’t you? You loosen up quick now.” Dad looks down and where he’s working Dean open. “You let me right in.” He sounds so proud, and Sam gets a spike of longing he doesn't examine too closely.

Dad removes his hand and knees himself backwards, pulling his pyjama bottoms down and revealing his hardon. Sam swallows drily. It’s huge, bigger than he’s seen in real life, but then, he’s only seen younger guys in locker rooms and such. It’s porn-big so nothing he hasn't seen before, but the reality is still shocking. It’s long and thick and sticking up. The way it bobs, it looks heavy, too. Sam can’t believe he’s going to put that in Dean. He can’t even reconcile for himself watching what looks like porn but in the utterly familiar forms of his  _ Dad and brother. _ Sam’s tongue feels thick and wet, like he might barf.

Dad squeezes more stuff directly on his penis and rubs it in overhanded. It's casual and dirty, watching his Dad touch himself like that. Sam’s rubbed his own dick before, and it never occurred to him to just flip his hand over. He wants to try it, and knows if he does it will forever be linked to this moment.

But then Dad is moving forward and hitching Dean’s ankles up over his shoulders and any thoughts just burn up like so many salted bones. Both Dad and Dean huff breaths that are periodically held and then expelled in a puff, then again. When they both let out a simultaneous small groan, Sam figures that’s the moment Dad’s dick slides in. It feels like a line crossed, absurd as that is, given how fucked up the whole thing has been. And Sam feels like he’s going to spill over with the amount of things welling up in his chest and head. He feels sick with it, and also desperate to witness this thing through to its conclusion.

There’s a rhythmic low sound, the rocking of mattress and the slide and slap of wet skin. It’s still really quiet, though. Furtive.

Dad grunts. “So tight, son. You squeeze me so good. Ain’t gonna fuck you hard tonight but I wanna.”

Dean lets out a held breath. “Shh. Sammy.” It comes out as a sibilant hiss, but he definitely sounds like it lacks conviction. His voice drops even further to barely a whisper as he says, “Uhm, do me deep, Daddy. Push it all the way in.” It sounds sincere, not like porn stars sound, and Sam is as horrified as he is turned on. He wants so badly to see Dean, watch his face, see how his cock lays on his belly, see his ass stretching around a dick. Sam’s shame is so huge it might engulf him.

Dad’s affected too, as he sounds like the breath is punched out of him and his rhythm picks up, soft huffs losing control. Sam is straining his neck to see all of it now, watching his Dad’s big form hunched over his brother. Dad lets Dean’s legs go, splayed wide as he drops forward to kiss Dean, which sounds even wetter, delicious-sounding, warm somehow. Dean wraps his legs around Dad’s torso, feet in the air. Even after everything he’s witnessed tonight, Sam thinks that may be the dirtiest sight he’s ever seen, something about Dean’s feet looking mundane, recognizable, but wrong.

“Oh my boy, my good boy,” Dad says, sounding completely out of it. Dad’s gonna come soon, Sam’s sure, and he both wants it and dreads it.

He’s right, and moments later Dad stutters to a standstill, breath shuddering. It’s otherwise silent, and Sam’s actually surprised, given how vocal Dad has been so far. It occurs to him how fucked that is, knowing this about his Dad, that he comes quietly.

Sam is still hard as anything, dick throbbing with want, but he doesn’t even want to come yet because there’s an open parenthesis: Dean hasn’t come. Sam is almost angry that it hasn’t happened and that Dad dared to beat him to the punch, which is stupid but Sam can’t help it. He’s pissed on Dean’s behalf, even if Dean isn’t. Although who knows if Dean is?

He misses watching Dad pull out because the next thing he sees properly, Dad is sitting up again, kneeling in front of Dean with his hand at Dean’s ass again.

“Mm, all soft and loose. One day I’ll have you gaping, but this is good. Creamed like you should be.” Dad’s tone is teasing, which needles Sam in the chest.

“I wanna come, Dad,” Dean says.

“I know,” Dad says. “Think you can come from my fingers in your ass?”

Dean huffs and squirms. “No,” he says. “I need…”

“Okay, okay,” Dad says, like his patience is a gift. “We’ll get there. It’ll take some training, I think. Touch yourself, then. Show me how you like it.”

“You know how I like it,” Dean says, petulant. But he’s grasping himself anyway. And these sounds Sam knows; he’s heard Dean spank it loads of times. But this time he’s got one leg planted on the bed and the other stretched up to rest on Dad’s shoulder and he grinds down onto Dad’s hand. It’s sinuous and utterly captivating. Sam’s kind of in awe of his brother, how beautiful he is.

It doesn’t take long before Dean’s arching up, head thrown back and stilled in a rictus of pleasure. The soft grunt is so familiar Sam feels almost proud that he knows it. Like he probably knew it before Dad did.

When Dean eases back down and Dad withdraws his fingers, Sam relaxes his head back again, suddenly aware he’s going to have the worst sore neck ever from this. And his dick aches, too. And his skin feels weirdly tender.

He hears what sounds like kissing, wet and filthy, and then there’s a rustling again.

“Look at you, all covered in spunk,” Dad teases again. “Such a dirty boy, Dean. Here.” More rustling, presumably some cleanup, or at least Sam hopes. He doesn’t like to think of Dean being left all come-y. He deserves better than that.

“We shouldn’t do this in here,” Dean says.

“Mm,” Dad says noncommittally. And Sam has sudden clarity: Dad did it on purpose. Maybe he didn’t care if Sam woke up and heard, maybe he wanted it. To what end, he can’t fathom. He doubts his Dad intends to add him to his bed as well. Dean’s his favourite, always has been. But maybe? Sam’s stomach twists again. He wants to purge his mind and just tug his dick until he can come, and go to sleep again. To have this all be over.

There’s a heavier shift of the bed and Sam hears Dad’s feet touch the floor.

“Sleep well, son. Need you rested. After Sam’s asleep tomorrow I want you to come to me so I can fuck you hard like I wanted. Or maybe we can even get Sam to stay with Bobby for a day or two, let you shout and moan all you want, huh?” Sam thinks that judging by this display, Dad means  _ he _ can shout and moan. A scene rises unbidden in Sam's mind of Dean on his hands and knees presenting himself as Dad fucks him rough and hard, headboard banging and Dad growling and grunting loudly and Dean gasping and whimpering. Sam has to squeeze his eyes shut hard as he tries to keep from touching himself.

Dean grunts like he isn’t going to answer. But then he says, “Yes, Dad,” almost begrudging but with a softer edge than his usual belligerence.

Dad leaves, closing the door as softly as he’s able.

Sam doesn’t move, just listens as Dean shifts around, pulling his pyjama bottoms back on and getting comfortable.

Sam lays in silence for ages, hardon still ignored, tense but keeping his breathing even for Dean’s benefit. Just when Sam thinks Dean must be asleep, he hears, barely voiced, “Sorry, Sammy.”

Sam’s heart is fit to burst.

***


End file.
